


Advent

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock prepare for Christmas.</p><p>Every day in December up until Christmas, I tweeted a few sentences of fic a day as a sort of advent calendar to my followers. This is it all compiled and tidied up a bit, but if some of it seems a bit oddly phrased, it's because I was coming up against the character limit.</p><p>Huge thanks to both Trillsabells and Jupiter_ash for compiling it, and proving that they have a hivemind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent

On the first day of December, John starts singing carols in the shower and doesn't stop until lunchtime, but Sherlock is completely engrossed in the brutal murder of a benevolent vicar and barely notices. That evening, Sherlock spends 3 hours playing his violin, thinking over the curate's statement. He entirely fails to notice that he's playing all the same carols that John was singing that morning. John notices, and smiles.

 

On the second day of December, Mrs. Hudson buys them an advent calendar. “Well, they were reduced, and it's a shame not to have one.”

John thanks her and offers her the chocolate from yesterday's window. He can't remember when he last had an advent calendar. 

Sherlock is distracted by the realisation that the vicar wasn't always benevolent, but he says, “Thank you,” when John prompts him. 

 

On the third day of December, Sherlock insists they need to infiltrate the church choir, so they spend the evening at choir practice. Halfway through, Sherlock grumpily announces that the organist is not the murderer, despite the fact that he'd known that the vicar was stealing from the organ restoration fund. John insists they stay to the end of practice, because he's enjoying the hymns. 

 

On the fourth day of December, Sherlock solves the case. An analysis of the pollen on the murder weapon proves that it was one of the ladies on the flower rota, who was angry that the vicar hadn't asked her to do the Christmas altar display. She tries to stab Sherlock with shears before John restrains her. 

On the fifth day of December, Sherlock spends most of the day asleep, recovering from the case. When he wakes up, he spends several hours stabbing melons with garden shears to see how he would have been injured without John. It's midnight before he finishes, and he's starving. He eats all the chocolates in the advent calendar, then goes to bed. 

 

On the sixth day of December, John wakes up to find there's no advent chocolate, and throws a tantrum. 

“And what do you think Mrs. Hudson is going to say? She bought that for us to enjoy all month, not just pig down in 30 seconds!”

When he gets back from work, he finds that Sherlock has repaired the calendar. 

“What's in it now?” he asks suspiciously. 

“You'll find out tomorrow,” says Sherlock, then refuses to say any more. 

 

On the seventh day of December, John opens the advent door very carefully, wondering if the whole thing is rigged to explode. Inside is a piece of paper saying _An apology for eating the calendar, and for anything else I did this year that upset you. SH_

“An apology from me is worth far more than any chocolate,” says Sherlock. 

John has to agree. He puts the paper in his wallet. 

 

On the eighth day of December, there is a picture of a skull in the calendar. 

“Bit macabre for Xmas,” says John. 

Sherlock sighs as if John's stupidity is painful, and glances meaningfully at the skull on their mantelpiece. When John lifts it, there is a chocolate orange underneath.

“Much nicer chocolate,” says Sherlock, “and I promise not to eat it.”

 

On the ninth day of December, the calendar contains a fact about the use of poison by UK murderers. 

“Knowledge is the best gift.” 

John spends the day writing Christmas cards. After he's gone to bed, leaving them sealed and in a stack to be posted tomorrow, Sherlock steams them all open and adds his own postscripts, then reseals them and leaves them exactly as he found them. 

 

On the tenth day of December, the note in the calendar reads, _I don't hate your jumpers as I claim to. Except the vile brown one._

John goes to post his Christmas cards with a smile on his face that only slightly dims when a black car pulls up next to him. The woman in the car hands him an invite to drinks at Mycroft's on Christmas Eve, then drives away. 

 

On the eleventh day of December, John and Sherlock have been arguing for over 24 hours about Mycroft's party when Harry calls. She reads out what Sherlock wrote in her card, and John has to suppress the urge to throw things. Instead, he leaves the flat. When he comes back, Sherlock has disappeared. John sets about apologising to everyone he sent a card. 

Not everyone is angry. Mike says, “I thought it was rather sweet actually. Mine says, 'I always thought you rather useless, but by introducing me to John, you have proved to be worth more than almost everyone else.'”

 

On the twelfth day of December, Sherlock arrives home to find that John has hung Christmas garlands throughout the whole of 221b. After his first steps inside, he also finds out that they are just low enough for him to get caught in. When he complains, John just gives a smug smile and points out that neither he nor Mrs. Hudson have a problem. 

 

On the thirteenth day of December, there's a case. They spend most of the day hunting for bank robbers who wear Father Christmas suits, then arrive home at the same time that Mrs Hudson struggles in with armfuls of shopping bags. She lets John help her with them, but tells him not to peek inside.

“Full of surprises!” she says. 

Sherlock suddenly realises he needs to buy John a present. 

 

On the fourteenth day of December, John is woken up by a Father Christmas suit hitting him in the face.

“Put it on,” commands Sherlock. “I have a plan to catch the robbers!”

“Where's yours?” asks John.

“Downstairs,” says Sherlock, and leaves.

Sherlock's plan works perfectly, of course, and after all the thieves are arrested, John looks at his flatmate in his now singed Father Christmas outfit. 

“I'd love a photo of you like that,” he says. 

“Unlikely to ever happen,” says Sherlock, and hails a taxi. 

 

On the fifteenth day of December, Sherlock replaces what was in the advent calendar with a photo of himself in a Father Christmas outfit. John beams at it for a while, then at Sherlock, then goes out to buy a frame. Sherlock also goes shopping, and spends 6 hours prowling the shops before concluding nothing is worthy of John. He does buy Mrs. Hudson a recipe book that contains his favourite biscuits. 

 

On the sixteenth day of December, Mrs. Hudson sneaks into 221b and hangs mistletoe in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen. When Sherlock notices, he wonders if she knows how obvious her jealousy of Mrs. Turner's married ones is. When John sees it, he has a sudden and unexpected mental image of kissing Sherlock and sits down rather heavily in his chair. Sherlock regards him for a moment, allows himself a small smile, then retreats to his room to keep working on The John's Present Problem.

 

On the seventeenth day of December, John finds a condom in the advent calendar. He stares at it, then at Sherlock, who scowls.

“Do you know how hard it is to find things that fit in there around the flat?” 

_Around the flat?_ thinks John, looking at the condom again. “This isn't one of mine.” 

“No,” agrees Sherlock. “It's one of mine.” He sweeps off to his room.

John hadn't realised Sherlock had ever even considered doing things he might need a condom for. He has a mental image, and sits down heavily in his chair. 

 

On the eighteenth day of December, Lestrade comes over for a drink. He and John get tipsy, then bump into each other under the mistletoe. 

“Well, it is tradition,” says Lestrade and pecks John's forehead.

John, who has spent days avoiding being caught there by Sherlock, just laughs and kisses Lestrade's cheek. Sherlock is speechless with rage. That should be his cheek! His kiss! His John! 

Lestrade invites them to the Yard Christmas party. John accepts, which means that Sherlock is forced to do the same, or risk Lestrade getting John alone and seducing him with more mistletoe shenanigans. 

 

On the nineteenth day of December, after several close calls, John stops using the door with the mistletoe above it completely. Much better to go the long way round when he isn't sure he can manage a joke kiss with Sherlock and not reveal certain things. Sherlock sulks, then takes the mistletoe down and runs an experiment on its poisonous qualities. No point in wasting it. 

 

On the twentieth day of December, there is a photo of Mrs. Hudson in the advent calendar.  
John frowns at it, puzzled.

“Um. Thanks?”

Sherlock is slumped on the sofa in deep-thinking mode. 

“That's not it,” he says. “She's taking you to a carol concert tonight. Whenever you have a shower, it's rather obvious how much you enjoy singing those songs.”

“Are you coming?” asks John. 

Sherlock's withering look says it all. Whilst John and Mrs. Hudson are out, Sherlock goes to his Mind Palace and remembers every present he has ever seen given or received, but is still unable to find something for John. 

 

On the twenty-first day of December, John and Sherlock go to Scotland Yard's Christmas Party. There is music, alcohol, and mistletoe. Sherlock is instantly on his guard. He doesn't leave John's side for a moment, and glares at anyone who gets too close. Despite that, John has an excellent night. He rather enjoys hanging out with Sherlock and having a giggle over everyone else’s drunken antics. Anderson's dancing is particularly memorable, as are Sherlock's comments about it. 

 

On the twenty-second day of December, Sherlock is still stumped for a present idea when John goes to Harry's for lunch. A jumper? Too generic. A new mug? Not enough to express how much John is worth. Another gun? Probably a bit too illegal.

Mycroft arrives without knocking, sits down in John's chair and ignores Sherlock's glare, and then tells him the best possible present. Sherlock is furious that Mycroft thought of it first, but reluctantly agrees to go to his drinks party in payment for the idea. 

 

On the twenty-third day of December, Sherlock takes John suit shopping for Mycroft's party. 

“Are you sure this is necessary?” asks John.

“Very. The point of these things is to show off. Nothing you own shows you off properly.”

John doesn't know how to respond. He also doesn't know how Sherlock manages to get a tailored suit on the Sunday before Christmas, but he has to admit it's a nice suit. What John doesn't know is that the tailor has had this and a number of other suits ready in John's size for several months. One of the ways Sherlock likes to stave off boredom is to hypothetically dress John as he deserves to be seen. Getting to see it for real is a special Christmas treat he hadn't expected, and that he almost thanks Mycroft for. 

There's no need, Mycroft already knows. 

 

On the twenty-fourth day of December, they go to Mycroft's drinks party. It's filled with posh people in expensive clothes. John sips champagne, eats tiny nibbles, and wonders why he thought this would be a good idea. Sherlock eyes the nineteen different bunches of mistletoe, and wonders if Mycroft is trying to make a point. (Yes, he is.) 

Eventually, John notices it too. “So, is there enough to poison everyone here?” 

“Sadly not,” says Sherlock. “Probably enough for the most annoying, though.” 

“That's a shame,” comments John.

Sherlock eyes the nearest bunch, calculating distances. “We'll just have to find another use for it.”

He grabs John's arm, pulls him under it, then finally kisses him. Just a brief press of lips, but it's better than he'd imagined. 

John freezes, staring, until Sherlock starts to feel self-conscious. “Home?” he suggests. 

“I-yes,” says John, sounding dazed. 

On the twenty-fifth day of December, John wakes up still confused about the kiss last night. What had Sherlock meant by it? 

Downstairs, Sherlock is playing carols on his violin, although he stops when John comes down. “Merry Christmas,” he says. 

John clears his throat to respond, telling himself to act as if nothing had happened last night, but Sherlock is still speaking. 

“I don't have a present for you.” 

“You bought me a suit on Sunday,” John points out. 

Sherlock waves that away. “That was as much for me as you. Besides, a suit isn't enough to express your value. Nothing is - that's why I don't have anything. So instead, I'll go against my usual inclinations and express just how much you mean to me.” He pauses to clear his throat. “John, it's obvious that you're the most important person in my life, as well as the only one I could stand to be around so much, and you're also the only person I could have,” he takes a breath and meets John's eye. “Fallen in love with,” he finishes. 

“Oh,” lets out John, feeling bowled over. Well, there is only one thing to do in response. He strides forward and gives Sherlock a proper kiss, nothing like the gentle peck of last night. Sherlock responds whole-heartedly. 

“No need for mistletoe,” John said when they finally came up for air. 

“No,” agreed Sherlock. “May need a bed, though.” 

They spent most of Christmas Day in bed, and then lived happily ever after.


End file.
